


Once Lost

by sage_thrasher



Category: Naruto
Genre: Allies of circumstance, Drama, Gen, Warring States Period (Naruto)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:33:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24297415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sage_thrasher/pseuds/sage_thrasher
Summary: If Izuna knows anything, it's this: a moment of cooperation with Hashirama Senju, no matter how brief, is a moment too many.
Relationships: Senju Hashirama & Uchiha Izuna
Comments: 4
Kudos: 95
Collections: Exchange no Jutsu 2020





	Once Lost

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fencesit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fencesit/gifts).



Izuna’s breaths are silent, but his heart pounds in his ears. Hashirama Senju is within distance of his blade. A step forward, a twitch of his weapon, and then the damned Senju’s spirit would sink to the depths to which it belongs. Currently, Izuna is more likely to go there first: blood drips from a deep injury in his side, the consequence of a samurai’s sword. 

The Senju doesn’t even look at him. His gaze is distant, his back pressed against a tree as he senses the approaching soldiers. Part of Izuna would rather throw himself on the sword of those men again rather than cooperate with a Senju. Let alone _that_ one. But it can’t be helped. 

One lord hired the Uchiha, another the Senju, but both have been tasked with spying on a third lord, a mutual enemy and another contender for daimyo. And now a mutual enemy of Izuna and the Senju both, mostly because the lord sent a contingent of Iron Country samurai to bring back their heads. 

He cares little for the political implications of such an action. Izuna’s more concerned about how no one fucking _knew_ about the samurai before he was sent into a den of snakes… and that the viper Hashirama Senju has been sent at the very same time. 

Izuna stiffens and unsheaths his blade, his eyes burning red. Even with his relatively meager abilities, Izuna can finally sense the approaching soldiers. Three men, maybe four at most, their signatures tightly coiled in the nature of samurai. One of them has chakra denser than a steel-coiled forge, swirling and molten. He’ll be the one to take out first. In his current state, Izuna isn’t sure he can manage even that, even without simultaneously holding off _Hashirama Senju._

He glances to the left. The Senju suddenly stopped without warning after their escape from the estate, and Izuna has been hesitant to leave him without knowing _why_. He’s hesitant to show his back to the Senju for even the moment it will take to retreat. 

And yet, the other shinobi doesn’t move. He doesn’t even react when the three samurai burst through the trees, blades drawn. 

Izuna tightens his grip and—

Trees burst from the ground, impaling the men on the branches. They hang like burst fruit for a moment before the trunk swells, enveloping the bodies. In the span of an exhale, the men are gone, replaced by three oak trees bearing no remnants of their creation. 

Hashirama Senju turns his gaze, focused and half-lidded, to him. Izuna stills, acutely aware that the shadow of death rests in the Senju’s bitter smile. 

“Shall we keep going?” 

Izuna doesn’t put away his blade. He nods, sharp, and follows the Senju, who doesn’t even have the courtesy of _pretending._ The Senju keeps his back exposed, clear condescension in his disregard of Izuna as a threat. 

It’s the flimsy pretense that bothers him the most. Power drips from the Senju’s fingers, yet he grovels subservient, as if false cheer can make anyone forget the corpses underfoot. And the moment he finds his mask of humility inconvenient, he discards it. 

Each footstep jars open Izuna’s wound, and his breaths come labored and uncontrolled. It’s only the vision of burying his blade in the Senju’s spine that gives Izuna the will to follow.

* * *

The sun has long set when the Senju stops. It’s less a clearing and more a pace’s breadth between trees, ensconced by canopy and free of undergrowth.

“We’ll set camp here.” 

Izuna stumbles to a halt, gasping despite his best efforts, sword still in one hand as he clutches his side with the other. _We?_ Izuna has no plans to share a fire with him. 

At least the Senju can’t hear his thoughts, because he’s already started a small campfire. Izuna would ask why he risks being seen by the samurai, but he knows the answer to both questions. The Senju has no fear of discovery, and he cares little if Izuna survives.

“That injury looks bad,” says Hashirama Senju, brow creased in a passable facsimile of concern. The man can’t hold back his mockery at seeing an enemy brought low. “Want me to heal you?” 

“I’m not interested,” Izuna bites back through gritted teeth. “A bandage is better relief than anything _you_ might accomplish.” Izuna would say it was a trick to make his death easier, but he knows that the Senju doesn't need to do that. But medical jutsu _is_ the most effective means of torture.

(The Senju for the three samurai when he could have left Izuna to his death. Clearly, the Senju takes pleasure in toying with his prey.)

Izuna wouldn’t normally tend to an injury in front of an enemy, but he has little choice now. He binds the wound with cloth, his sword within reach, and picks up the blade the moment he’s able. The Senju says nothing, only watching, his expression unreadable. 

At least now he drops the mask. Has Izuna finally _proven himself_ worthy of shinobi regard?

The Senju sighs. “Take first watch.” He turns, rests his head against the trunk of a tree, and closes his eyes. 

Apparently not. Izuna stares at the ‘sleeping’ man. He won’t rest in a Senju’s presence. He doesn’t plan on staying at this fire for a moment longer than he has to. Once his breathing steadies and his chakra rises from the dregs, Izuna will continue onwards. Alone. 

* * *

Izuna opens his eyes to sunshine, and the realization snaps away any remnants of fatigue. Anger surges, and it floods when he sees the Senju putting out the embers. 

“Oh, you’re awake!” says the Senju, back to his artificial cheer. “Don’t worry, I took watch. I didn’t want to bother you, since you looked so peaceful—”

Izuna snarls and leaps into the trees, his body a blur as he runs through the branches. Hashirama follows, to the side rather than behind, not that Izuna would have given his back anyway. 

“Hey, don’t go so fast. You’ll mess up your injury again. And you don’t need to worry about the samurai. They won’t bother us anymore.” 

Izuna doesn’t reply. He doesn’t slow down. So the Senju had killed them all before returning to the campsite and lingering by his side, as if they were clansmen rather than sworn enemies, further ridicule heaped on Izuna’s weakness. 

He isn’t stupid. Izuna knows that the Senju lost brothers to the flames of the Uchiha, just as Izuna had lost his to their knives. Does he have so little regard for the memories of his family? He has the power to scatter ruin upon his enemies, but he _doesn’t_. (The younger Senju, Tobirama, Izuna can at least respect. He doesn’t pretend at strategies almost too shameful for ninja. He doesn’t pretend to hide anger.) 

The Senju persists with inane attempts at conversation. Izuna remains silent. He would lop off the Senju’s head this very moment if he had any chance of succeeding. 

* * *

The Senju stops. Izuna stops as well, four trees away. He keeps his eyes on the other shinobi. The Senju's body is thrum with tension that Izuna didn't see even during the short-lived 'battle' with the samurai. He isn't pretending to smile. Is this it, then? Has the Senju finally tired of this pretense? 

“My clansmen are coming from the west,” says the Senju. 

Ah, so it is. Izuna raises his blade higher. He has little chance of escape, a fewer chance of victory. But he won’t die groveling. 

“Go,” says the Senju. “You were never here.” 

Izuna stares, his eyes red with the sharingan. One breath. Two. Waiting for the moment that the Senju finally attacks. 

It’s after the third breath that the Senju appears in front of him. Izuna strikes down with his right, flames gathering in front of his left as he exhales fire. The Senju avoids both. He places a hand on Izuna’s chest. 

His side burns, and Izuna can only rage silently at such a humiliating death. Two more breaths pass. Skin itches and dried blood cracks as the burning resolves into a familiar cooling. Izuna can finally place the sensation.

Chakra healing. 

Why? Why would he—

“Go!” shouts the Senju, his eyes wild and bright. 

Izuna says nothing for a long moment. He can sense the chakra of Senju at the edge of his perception, prickling and faint. He doesn’t—No. It doesn’t matter. “This won’t spare you death on the battlefield, Senju.” 

The other shinobi says nothing. He simply waits. 

Izuna keeps his sword drawn, but he turns his back on Hashirama and disappears into the leaves.


End file.
